


Illusions

by orphan_account



Category: The Martian (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-16 23:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5845288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark is, against his will, undeniably in love. He wishes that Chris felt the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was dangerous, Mark decided. And ill-advised. And stupid.

All of these things didn’t stop him from inviting Chris back to his apartment - “Do you wanna just crash on my couch?” - which, even through the alcohol-induced haze, he knew in his bones was a bad idea.

Chris had raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“I live just around the corner, so... Cheaper than taking a cab all the way across town. And I can give you a ride back to your place in morning?”

That slow, devastating smile should’ve made Mark rescind the offer right away. “Yeah... yeah, okay.”

The facts were these: they were co-workers; they were going to have to be on a spaceship together for months - 2 years, practically. Mark had always prided himself on his professionalism, but he couldn’t help wanting to put his hands all over Chris whenever the other man gave him one of those coy half smiles, or squeezed Mark’s forearm, or rakishly winked at him, or flirted with him (openly, shamelessly), or put his even, white teeth into his lower lip.

And it didn’t help that Chris had already propositioned him: once when they’d been alone together, having dinner (as friends), when Chris had touched his foot to Mark’s calf under the table and gave him one of those (almost) irresistible looks; the second time was more recent, and Mark had had a harder time saying no with Chris pressed up against him on the flight surgeon’s doorstep, his fingers hooked into Mark’s belt loops and his breath warm on Mark’s face.

Mark’s reasoning was sound: they had to maintain a professional, working relationship. This was the surface stuff - what he said to Chris and to himself when he caught himself staring openly at the other man during important meetings and training sessions. His private, personal reason, the one he didn’t like to think on, was that he wanted more from Chris than a cheap, casual fuck, which sometimes seemed like the only thing Chris wanted from _him_.

The problem was that Dr. Beck had so completely ensnared him. Mark hadn’t had any experience or faith in the idea of love at first sight, until his first meeting with the rest of the Ares III crew. That immediate, unsettling desire had only deepened and intensified the more time he spent in the other man’s company, until Chris was in his dreams every night and on his mind every day. He’d been over the moon when Chris had first taken to singling him out and making his interest in Mark more than apparent, but then at dinner that one night, when Chris had leaned in close and said, “We can just fool around for a while, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” it was the first time in his life that Mark had felt anything he could classify as “soul crushing” (this _far_ surpassed that rejection letter from Yale).

He wanted to _mean_ something to Chris, and there was still an irrational, masochistic part of him that hoped they could get to that point someday. So he didn’t discourage the flirting and he didn’t put his eyes on the floor when Chris found him staring and he invited Chris home with him when they’d both been drinking and didn’t have their wits about them.

As soon as Mark had closed the door behind them, Chris had his arms around Mark’s neck and was kissing him like he wanted him - deep and hard and wet and filthy, his fingers coming up to tug at Mark’s hair, his hips pressing forward.

Mark moaned into Chris’ mouth and held him close, letting himself pretend for a moment that they loved each other, that Chris wasn’t just looking to get into his pants but actually _desired_ Mark - _all_ of Mark.

Chris was smiling when they parted, nudging his nose into Mark’s and licking his lips. “You gonna show me to your bedroom?”

And in an instant, the illusion was shattered.

He needed every bit of his willpower to take his hands off of Chris and walk away, ignoring the crestfallen look on the other man’s face.

“I’ll bring you a blanket,” Mark said.

“For God’s sake, Watney, why won’t you just fuck me already?” Chris looked flustered and confused when Mark turned around to face him. “It’s not like you don’t _want_ to,” he continued, his tone softening, “I know you do.” He took off his jacket and dropped it to the carpet, and then grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it off over his head.

It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Chris with his shirt off, but Mark dropped his chin and shut his eyes, jumping a bit when he felt Chris’ warm, soft hands on his face - doctor’s hands, unused to hard, gritty labor.

“What’s going on?” Chris asked him.

If Mark wasn’t drunk, he might not have brought one of those hands to his lips, kissing the smooth palm, the individual slender fingers.

“Mark?”

“I’ll bring you a blanket.”


	2. Chapter 2

They were several weeks into space travel and Mark was sitting alone in the kitchen. Technically it was “night” - the rest of the crew was asleep - but it was always night out here; when Mark looked out the window, he saw endless stars of all different ages and sizes stretching out in the darkness.

They’d received their first email dumps a few days ago, and, after sifting through all the well-wishes, he found a message from his mother saying his dad’s cancer was back.

She hated to have to tell him, she’d written, but she didn’t want Mark to have to find out about it when he came home, knowing he would want to at least be able to send his father a final message if it didn’t look like he was going to pull through this time.

Mark had accepted that his parents were getting older, and his dad hadn’t been doing well when Mark left. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that he was sick again, but it upset Mark all the same, and he hadn’t been able to go to sleep with these new thoughts about death and mortality taking up space in his head.

He was staring out at the stars, idly working his way through a bag of jelly beans, when Chris walked in.

Up until this point, they'd been pros at avoiding one another whenever they didn't have to be in the same room. Ever since the episode at Mark’s apartment, they’d stopped seeking each other out and didn’t talk at all outside of work.

Chris was wearing sleep pants and one of those ridiculous cowl neck sweatshirts, his hair all mused from sleep. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey.”

“Can't sleep?”

Mark shrugged. “Not really.”

“Mm.” Chris peered silently into the refrigerator and asked nonchalantly, “Is everything all right? You’ve been very... not yourself, lately.”

 _I'm fine_ , Mark wanted to say. But he’d also been wanting to talk to _anyone_ about his dad since he’d read the email, and Chris was the only other person on the Hermes who knew all about his father's medical woes - it was one of the many personal things they'd shared back when they'd first started spending one on one time together. Mark missed that more than anything else: the long, private talks they would have about nothing in particular.

“My dad's sick again,” he said, not looking at the other man.

“I thought he was in remission?”

“He was.”

“Are you okay?”

“I don't know.”

“Well... Even though we're not talking, you can always come talk to me.”

Mark wanted to smile, but could only manage a small nod. “Thanks.”

“How's your back?” Chris asked.

Mark was bewildered for a moment before remembering that he'd _also_ told Chris about a car accident he'd been in the year before. Nothing disastrous, but the wreck had fucked up his lower back and put him in physical therapy for a while. Afterwards, he'd began to feel an uncomfortable little twinge every now and then. Since he'd been aboard the Hermes, however, that twinge had turned into a dull, constant ache - something he probably should've alerted the flight surgeon about weeks ago, but... well, he'd been actively avoiding Chris.

“Are the cramps getting worse?” Chris continued. “I've noticed you rubbing at it more often.”

“Yeah, it’s not feeling too great right now,” Mark confessed. “More pain than discomfort. I don't know why.”

“May I?” Chris asked, moving closer to him.

Mark nodded, and then hissed at the sharp, sudden pain of Chris’ fingers digging hard into his lower back (fingers he'd individually kissed not too long ago). Chris pressed his thumbs right into the sorest, tightest spots and rubbed, and the pain steadily intensified until it slowly dissolved altogether. Mark let out an embarrassing moan of pure pleasure as the (very clinical) massage made him feel more relaxed than he'd been in _months_ \- he could appreciate the irony in Chris being both the cause and the cure.

Once Chris had thoroughly worked into his lower back, he moved upward and kneaded Mark's stiff shoulders, his touch going from dry and prescriptive to almost unbearably intimate. “Fucking hell, Watney, your knots are ridiculous.”

“I think I can honestly say I've never heard that before in my life,” Mark groaned, dropping his chin as Chris, chuckling, worked at the back of his neck.

It _should_ have been too much: Chris’ tender hands all over him, that deep, dark, honeyed voice so close to his ear. Too much like what Mark craved, but couldn't have. Instead, he found himself leaning into that tactile contact and wishing it would go on forever, lamenting the fact that he was _still_ \- after all these weeks - so totally fucked when it came to Chris Beck.

He closed his eyes and surrendered completely to the other man's touch, letting out little sounds whenever Chris would dig into a particularly tight spot, and then sighing and relaxing when those talented hands eased the ache away.

After several minutes had passed like this, Chris’ hands slowed to a stop and came to rest on Mark’s shoulders. “Can I ask you a selfish question?” he said.

“Sure.”

“Why did you... Did I do something wrong? Read you wrong? Or say the wrong thing? If I did, I'm really sorry, I just thought that you... liked me, maybe? That you wanted to hook up, or something, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I'm sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Mark said. “You didn't do anything wrong. I did like you - do like you, a lot. We just... want different things.”

“How about we _say_ what we want, and take all the guesswork out of the equation?”

“Where's the fun in that?” Mark said dryly.

“I'll start.” He walked around from behind Mark and stood beside him, leaning on the table. Mark looked up into Chris’ handsome face and held his breath.

“I miss you,” Chris said. “I hate not being able to talk to you and spend time with you. I’m worried that I ruined any chance we might’ve had at being friends - or, really, more than friends. Because I like you a lot, too, and I want to be with you. On a long-term basis, I mean.” When Mark didn’t say anything, Chris reached over and nudged his arm. “Your turn.”

The longer Mark stared silently up at him, the more Chris began to fidget, biting his bottom lip and lowering his face to hide the soft, comely blush.

“You know what, nevermind,” Chris said hastily, pushing away from the table and turning to leave.

Mark got to his feet and took Chris by the wrist, reeling him into his arms and kissing him soundly on the lips. Chris let out a muffled little noise of relief and wrapped his arms tight around Mark’s neck.

“You do realize...” Mark said breathlessly, pressing several more kisses to Chris’ mouth and then working his way down. “...that this is probably the worst idea ever?”

“It’s a terrible idea,” Chris agreed. “That’s not gonna stop me, though.”

“Me, neither. Just making sure you’re on board.”

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discovered in the deep recesses of Google Drive

**Author's Note:**

> Can't stop writing about these two, please send help. Currently taking fic requests, can't promise that I'll get to all or any because college is hard.


End file.
